


If You Love Something, Let It Go

by AtropaAzraelle (Polyoxyethylene)



Series: Of Walls and Nerds [27]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Breaking up is hard to do, Lies and secrets, M/M, Sweetness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-28 06:28:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14443362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polyoxyethylene/pseuds/AtropaAzraelle
Summary: Ignis explains to Prompto what has happened, and wrestles with his own grief, and fears.Follows on directly from Sacrifice.





	If You Love Something, Let It Go

“I've left him,” Ignis said. It was easier to lie when one stuck to half truths, and that was what Ignis did so that he could deceive Prompto now. It wasn't a lie, as such, not really. He had left Gladio; the two of them were being forced to endure a distance they'd only felt briefly on their journeys with Noct. It was the only way.

“But,” Prompto protested, and Ignis heard the gasp of breath as he struggled to put words around what he was thinking. “ _Why?_ ”

Ignis frowned. He was seated on Prompto's sofa, hands clasped atop his knees, listening to Prompto try and absorb the tale he was telling. The apartment smelled different to their own, soft furnishings, and a little dust, and Prompto's hairgel, and whatever perfume Iris used lingering in the air. “I told you why,” he said.

There was silence, only the idle drumming of Prompto's fingers on the back of the chair he'd pulled around audible over the sound of Ignis's own breath in his ears. Lestallum outside kept that muted bustle. On the darker days, everything seemed to be conducted in hushed voices. Footsteps were made carefully on the pavements in case daemons heard.

“Ignis,” Prompto said, sounding wary, and unhappy with what he was about to say, “I know you're a smart guy, and you think everything through, but that's really stupid.”

Ignis inhaled deeply. “Prompto,” he began.

“No,” Prompto said, cutting across Ignis, and then immediately falling quiet again. “You've just told me you've left him because you love him and want him to find someone else. That's _stupid_.”

Ignis sighed, letting his head fall forward as he clasped his hands a little tighter. “Are you familiar with the phrase 'if you love something, let it go'?” he asked, his face turned down towards the floor. “I love Gladio enough that I don't want him to wait for me.”

“Gladio will wait for you until the end of time!” Prompto replied. His voice drew closer, as if he was leaning forward as he spoke.

Ignis squeezed his eyes tightly shut. Once upon a time they'd have had a hard time getting people to accept their love for each other ran that deeply, and here was Prompto, not only recognising and accepting it, but aghast that they were abandoning it. A painful part of him wondered if Noct would feel the same. “And I don't want him to,” he repeated, “because I know how it feels.” He swallowed, taking a second to muster his composure before he explained, “I know how it feels to fear for him every time he walks out of that door. I know how it feels not to know whether he's alive or dead, not to know when we will be reunited, or even if. I don't wish him to endure that. I don't know how much longer I can.”

Prompto groaned, and Ignis heard him shift in his chair. It had sounded, when he'd first entered the apartment and Prompto had taken his bag, as if Prompto had taken a wooden dining chair and turned it around, draping his weight across the back of it as he spoke to Ignis. He heard him now, folding his arms around the back of the chair, the soft brush of his clothes and skin against wood giving him away. “And that's what's stupid,” Prompto pressed, his voice sulky. “You're still going to feel that way even if you're not together.”

Ignis felt his throat tighten. Prompto had always been perceptive when it came to the mood of the group. He had always been attuned to Noct's moods in a way Ignis never had been in his entire life, and he'd known, even when Ignis wouldn't say it, when Ignis needed a friendly hand just as much as when he needed the space to stumble. 

He'd rarely spoken up, for most of their time together, but when he really believed in what he was saying, he did so with a conviction Ignis envied. He might be scared while doing so, standing up to one's friends being so much harder for Prompto than it was for any of the rest of them, and not just because of his timid, follower's nature, but when the chips were down, Prompto found it in himself to swallow his fears and speak up.

So Ignis appreciated, right now, just how hard it must be for Prompto to challenge him. If only he knew. If only Ignis could _tell_ him what was really happening, why they really must part ways and love each other from afar.

“Prompto,” he said, softly, “there is something you must understand about Gladio and I.” He waited, in case Prompto wished to speak, but he was met with silence and the sound of Prompto shifting position on his chair, so he continued, “Our first priority is, and always has been, Noct. We've known for as long as we've been together that the day may come when we have to forsake each other for him.”

“Noct's not here.” The words came in a trembling whisper, and Ignis felt them as keenly as a dagger.

“But he will return,” he said, “and in the meantime, we have a duty to keep his people safe.”

“And you've been doing that!” Prompto's voice rose as he protested, preparing to launch another argument against Ignis's logic. “You've been fighting! Both of you! You've been protecting people—”

“And I have spent the entire time scared,” Ignis said, feeling his throat ache as he forced the words out. “Scared for him, and scared for myself. If I fall in battle, how long will it be until he knows? If he falls, will I _ever_ know? Every time I leave Lestallum, I fear that I may not return, for _his_ sake, and not my own. I cannot--” his voice cracked, and Ignis stopped, forcing himself to breathe slowly. He heard Prompto shift, moving his weight on the chair. “I cannot give my all,” he pressed on, “to protect those that need it if I'm holding myself back to make sure I return to him. And nor can he.”

A hand settled around Ignis's bicep and he startled at the unexpected touch. Prompto murmured a tiny, “Sorry,” but the hand didn't retreat. Ignis hadn't heard him move the step nearer, too caught up in his own confessions. “That's what's stupid,” he said, more clearly. It sounded as though he were kneeling in front of Ignis. “If you could die tomorrow, why don't you want to spend every minute you have together?”

Ignis favoured Prompto with a wan smile. “Believe me, I wish to,” he said, “but we have a job to do.”

He heard Prompto swallow, and imagined him casting around for a response. The fingers on his bicep tightened, and then slipped away, and Ignis suddenly wished he'd moved to return the touch. “Noct wouldn't want this,” Prompto said, in a whisper. “I know we never talked about it, but,” Ignis heard the sound of fingers running through gelled hair, “he was always kind of happy for you, and I always figured,” Prompto paused, and then his voice went soft, “so long as you two were together, everything would be okay.”

It didn't do anything for Ignis's dry and tightening throat, and he unlaced his fingers, curling his hands into fists instead. He remembered the message from Noct, the morning after they'd announced their relationship. He'd never mentioned it afterwards, but the exchange lingered in Ignis's phone, the subtle words of support and congratulations kept as an electronic memento of easier times. “If Noct returns soon,” he said, “then we can reconcile.”

The silence lingered uncomfortably long before Prompto asked, in a strained whisper, “And if he doesn't?”

Ignis swallowed. How long might they have to keep this up? How long must he and Gladio maintain distance? It ached now, even though he fully intended to call Gladio once he was safely alone and wouldn't be overheard. How long would they be able to sustain this? How long would their love last without regular sight or sound of each other? Would hurried trysts and infrequent phone calls be enough?

How long until this act was no longer an act?

“Then,” he said, “the pain will wane with time.”

There was silence. Ignis didn't know if Prompto even blinked for those long, uncomfortable moments that left Ignis swaddled in the darkness of his own fears. The less they met, the easier being apart would become, until it was routine, habit. Until being together was the alien sensation. Until they were near strangers.

“Could I use your restroom?” he asked, puncturing the silence.

“Yeah,” Prompto said, sounding as if Ignis had drawn him out of a stupor. “Yeah,” he repeated, “do you need me to show you to it?”

Ignis shook his head, standing from the sofa and shifting his grip on his stick. “Just point me in the right direction,” he said. “I should get used to finding it myself.”

“Right,” Prompto said, dully. “If you go left round the sofa, there are two doors. You need the one on the right.” Ignis gave a nod of thanks, and he heard Prompto give a gasp like he was plucking up the courage to say something, and had finally done so. “I need to go out, but I'll be back real soon. Are you gonna be okay?”

Ignis turned his head to give Prompto the warmest smile he could muster. Prompto was such a gentle soul. Ignis hadn't expected him to take the news of his and Gladio's new circumstances to heart like this, but then, in retrospect, they were the closest thing to family each other had these days. “I'll be fine,” he assured him. “I get around surprisingly well.”

“Right,” Prompto repeated. “That's not what I meant, but,” he added, and then tailed off. Ignis could hear his mind casting around for what to say, and what to do. “Ignis?” he asked.

Ignis gave a murmur, a gentle, patient smile on his lips as he waited for Prompto to gather his thoughts. He was rarely eloquent. Sometimes Prompto needed time to rehearse what he wanted to say in his head before he could come out with it. That time was the least Ignis owed him.

“I'm glad you felt you could come to me,” he said, eventually. “I know I'm not Noct, but--”

“Prompto,” Ignis said, stopping him before he could follow that line of thought too far down its track. “I didn't come to you as a replacement for Noct. I came to you because you're my friend too.” He heard the gulp in Prompto's throat, and he wondered how Prompto looked, right now. Was he fighting tears, or was he simply wearing that look of heartbroken devastation Ignis would never get out of his mind, the one he'd worn after seeing Insomnia burn from the safety of the other side of the causeway. He doubted Prompto was smiling. There wasn't the mood for smiles. “The next few days are going to be difficult,” he said, softly. “I'll need your support. As will Gladio.”

“Even though you're both being stupid?” Prompto asked.

Ignis sighed. If only he could tell him the truth; that they were separated because a charade was the best way to keep themselves safe from Ardyn. But they couldn't risk people not believing that they'd really separated in case it ever got back to him, wherever he was, and however he learned things. Prompto, for all Ignis trusted him as a person, had never demonstrated an aptitude for subterfuge, and besides, would it be fair to put the burden of their safety onto Prompto's shoulders?

“That you're willing to stand by us while disagreeing with us means a lot,” Ignis said. “Disagreeing with me,” he amended. “This wasn't Gladio's choice.”

He heard Prompto sigh. It was a soft, quiet noise, a release of breath. “I guess,” he said. “I'll be back as soon as I can.”

Ignis flashed Prompto a soft smile. “Don't rush,” he said. “It will give me chance to learn the layout without an audience.”

Ignis heard the door close, marking Prompto's exit as he made his way to the bathroom. It was horrible, and disorienting being in an unfamiliar environment again. When he'd first moved into the apartment with Gladio he'd spent long hours mapping its layout in footsteps. Five around the kitchen, fifteen to the door, the soft curve of a path one had to take so as not to walk into the sofa. It had been taxing, and yet, once Ignis had familiarised himself with it, he could navigate the apartment without having to think about it.

He'd visited Prompto's apartment, but he'd never been alone in it before, and it was like being set adrift. His stick caught, and Ignis had to check whether it was a wall or furniture. The layout was different to his and Gladio's own; this one had two bedrooms, and a bathroom from the lounge instead of directly from the bedroom. Add to that the possessions of two people who had never had to accommodate a blind man before, and his progress around the apartment was slow.

He found himself in the kitchen. Prompto and Iris had a dining table as small as his and Gladio's own, and the chairs were mismatched. One was taller, one had cushioned seating. He doubted they ate at the table much, probably being more inclined to eat off their knees. Ignis himself couldn't do that any more. He needed to be able to place things down and find them exactly as he'd left them, or he wouldn't find them at all. Every item that was moved became a lost contact lens, reducing Ignis to potentially hours of searching by touch on his hands and knees for something that may not be where he is searching. Gladio had always made sure to put everything back exactly where it belonged.

Ignis felt the sob rise involuntarily in his throat. The ache of missing Gladio was already a dagger plunged into his chest, making every breath and beat of his heart painful to endure. Knowing that they wouldn't spend the night together, even though Gladio was right here in Lestallum, knowing that Prompto and Iris would have to learn to accommodate him as Gladio had, as he'd never had to _explain_ to Gladio how to do, made the pain worse.

He swallowed it down, forced the next sob that tried to break free back down into his chest with a heave of breath. He wiped the tear that had slipped free from his cheek away with one hand.

He pulled his phone from his pocket, pressing the button at the side to wake it up. “Call Gladio,” he told it. There was the faint beep as it registered the instruction, and then the sound of it dialling. The first ring went unanswered, as did the second. Gladio picked up after the third.

“Hey,” Gladio said, his voice soft and brimming with a warmth that Ignis felt swirl around him and cradle him as surely as Gladio's arms. It was painfully good to hear his voice.

“It's done,” Ignis said, letting himself settle into the comforting, familiar rumble of Gladio's voice, even though the phone changed the harmonics a little. It wasn't quite enough to let him try and convince himself that Gladio was there, speaking to him.

“How'd they take it?” Gladio asked.

Ignis sighed. Badly, he thought, but as well as could be expected. He'd never realised how much their relationship might represent stability to those around them. How much value others put on their ability to stay together through thick and thin. They'd survived the fall of Insomnia, the loss of their families, the destruction of Ignis's own sight and independence, and the slow recovery of that independence, but now the darkness that threatened the world had beaten them. It wasn't the most hopeful message they could send. “Iris wasn't here,” he said. “I expect you'll get a visit from Prompto soon.”

“I'll call Iris and tell her,” Gladio said. “Don't want her finding out on the grapevine.” Ignis could hear that soft sadness in Gladio's voice. He disliked the idea of lying to Iris as much as he'd disliked the idea of lying to Prompto, but Gladio _despised_ it. Lying to those they love in order to keep everyone that bit safer ran counter to Gladio's very core. “How are you?” he asked.

Ignis gave a bitter laugh. “Missing you,” he said. “You're so close, and yet I can't--” he cut himself off, feeling his throat drying out, his chest tightening once more. “Walking away was the hardest thing I've ever done.”

Gladio gave a similarly bitter huff. “Letting you go wasn't exactly easy,” he said.

Ignis felt a soft, heartbroken smile cross his face at the admission. The sound of Gladio's choked sobs from the other side of a door was going to stay with him. All he wanted to do was rush downstairs and back into Gladio's arms, to kiss his tears away and hold him until the pain in their hearts abated.

Gladio was so much of a presence in their apartment that Ignis felt his absence keenly here. There was the sound of Gladio breathing, the shift of leather against cloth as he moved an arm, or crossed a leg. He'd grown unfortunately used to the absence of Gladio's sounds while they were apart, but this, now, was worse. Prompto's apartment didn't smell like Gladio. Prompto and Iris didn't put things where he and Gladio did. Ignis felt adrift, the lifeline he'd grown accustomed to severed, the sense of familiarity that was his home, and Gladio, stripped away.

Telling himself that he'd get used to it only made it worse. He didn't want to get used to being apart this completely. “No matter what happens,” he said, “no matter how long we're like this, don't ever doubt that I love you.”

“Hey,” Gladio replied, his voice scolding and firm, “no goodbyes. We're just apart, remember?”

Ignis fought against his tight chest and unsteady breath, trying not to let it sound like he was holding back his distress. He didn't want Gladio to hear him distressed. “I know,” he said, although it felt like a hollow answer. They'd discussed it, certainly, but the reality of doing it felt different to simply being apart while they hunted. It _felt_ as if they'd separated.

“Go to your bag,” Gladio said.

Ignis frowned, swallowing down his aching throat and unsteady breath. “Why?” he asked.

“Just do as you're told, Iggy,” Gladio said. There was a fondness to his voice that coiled around Ignis's aching heart and soothed it a little.

“What am I going to find?” he asked, standing up and retrieving his stick to make his way over to Prompto's sofa. The distraction of having to do something worked to draw his mind from the melancholy emotions he was trying to rein in. His bag had been neatly tucked down the right side of it, out of the way for now while sleeping arrangements were considered.

“Are you there yet?” Gladio asked.

Ignis settled himself onto the sofa and nestled his stick against the cushions before he reached down and around, and slid his bag from its place. “I've got it,” he said.

“Now open the zip at the front.”

Ignis did, cradling his phone between his neck and his shoulder as he found the zip with his fingers and drew it open. He slid his fingers inside, retrieving the phone from its awkward spot with his other hand again. Inside the pocket he met material, slightly rough in weave, but soft with years of wear. “What's this?” he asked.

“My shirt,” Gladio answered, quietly. “I figured, since pictures are no good to you--”

Ignis pulled the shirt from its pocket and lifted it to his face. The texture was familiar, the weight and density of it, and lack of emblems against his fingers told him which shirt. Gladio had tucked the black tank top into his luggage when he'd packed for him that morning. It had been sitting in the bathroom, awaiting laundry. Ignis didn't need to bring it all the way to his nose for the scent of Gladio to hit him, that faint tang of soap, and citrus shampoo, of sea salt deodorant, and worn leather, the way Gladio always smelled just after a shower. “Gladio,” he said, overcome with gratitude and love for this ridiculous, sentimental, thoughtful man he'd shared his life with. He felt his eyes watering again, the tear running free of his good eye first.

“When you need another, just let me know,” Gladio said.

Ignis held the shirt tightly, close to his face, letting the familiar scent envelop him. “Thank you,” he said, unable to say more.

“I love you,” Gladio said, in reply. There was an unhappy sigh from him before he said, “I gotta go.”

Ignis nodded, still clutching the shirt high against his chest. “You should speak to Iris,” he agreed, even though he didn't want to.

“Yeah,” Gladio said, softly. Ignis felt the hesitation from the other end of the line before Gladio said, “I'll be leaving town in a couple of days. I signed up for a hunt near Meldacio.”

Ignis felt the information settle into his gut, and he bit the inside of his lip. It was inevitable, of course. They'd spent time apart due to hunts before, this would be no different. Not really. “Call me when you can,” he said.

“Of course I will,” Gladio said, and Ignis could hear the fervency in his voice. Gladio meant it. He'd call if he had to find one of the cell towers and sit on top of it to do so. “I love you,” he added.

“I love you too,” Ignis replied.

He listened to the click as the line went dead, and listened a moment longer to the silence before he put his phone down on his lap. Then he brought the shirt up in both his hands and inhaled deeply.

If Noct returned soon they could reconcile. He chewed his lip, thinking over that statement to Prompto. It was true, but their reconciliation wasn't predicated on Noct's return, only on Ardyn's defeat. Yet all the research Ignis had done, all his searches of the ancient tombs had revealed no new information. There were secrets yet to be unravelled from his visit to Pitioss, but an infuriating lack of straight answers as to how the fulfilment of prophecy would eventually be achieved.

A vision of Noct perched upon the throne, older, bearded, dirty from battle haunted his memory. The details coming in and out of focus like an old dream. He clutched the shirt a little more tightly, Gladio's comforting scent in his nose.

He needed to find how to defeat Ardyn before Noct returned, or he risked losing everything.

He took one last, deep inhale of Gladio's shirt, savouring the presence it conjured in his memory before he returned it carefully to the bag. Then he picked up his phone.

“Call Aranea,” he told it.

**Author's Note:**

> The next installment will be a bit lighter in tone, I promise.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading, kudosing, commenting, and the continued enthusiasm and support I've received for this series. I treasure all of them. Feel free to come and talk to me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/atropaazraelle), where I also fill prompts on occasion, and reblog other fics, and art.
> 
> If you weren't here reading this right now, I wouldn't have got this far with this series, so thank you.


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